


it always seems like a good idea to go paddling in the fountain

by idolaters



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4035025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idolaters/pseuds/idolaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're lying on the floor, lazy with the heat; there's a small desk fan and a tall one on rotate and an expensive looking one they dug out of Cynthia's garage. The white noise is soothing, or it would be if Owain wasn't shoving Inigo's character sheet in his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it always seems like a good idea to go paddling in the fountain

**Author's Note:**

> and that's because it IS a good idea

Character sheets are spread across the floor along with an outdated Player's Handbook, dog-eared and covered in brown stains that Inigo refuses to touch. The A/C is broken and Inigo's mom is out. Owain wanted to open the windows but Inigo insisted that'd just make it hotter and they tussled for a minute until Owain's elbow got jammed in Inigo's ribcage and he let out a pained yelp. Then Owain was nothing but "Did I hurt you, bloodbrother?!" and "I will never live down this treachery; it is as a stain on my once-heroic heart" and Inigo had to hit him with a pillow to get him to shut up.

Now they're lying on the floor, lazy with the heat; there's a small desk fan and a tall one on rotate and an expensive looking one they dug out of Cynthia's garage. The white noise is soothing, or it would be if Owain wasn't shoving Inigo's character sheet in his face.

" _What_ ," Inigo says. His shirt is sticking to his back with sweat and he wants iced tea, maybe, or one of those weird cherry-pineapple popsicles Cynthia and Owain eat by the pound, leaving their mouths red. Owain always tries to touch Inigo's hair with his sticky hands, lurching at him while Cynthia shrieks with laughter.

"Your ranger," Owain says, jabbing the end of a pencil into Inigo's neat pencilled numbers. "He's going to die at the first clash of swords."

"No he isn't," Inigo says, offended. "He's wily and inventive and handsome."

"Yeah, and you put all your points in Charisma," Owain says, wrinkling his nose in disapproval. Inigo suspects that Owain thinks charisma is a type of special attack. Certainly he's never heard of it; has never considered summing up an ounce of charm in his _life_ what with his tendency to start play-fights in the middle of the grocery store and the way he always yells at Inigo across a crowded hallway when he is hitting on a girl.

"--not to mention his name," Owain says, who has been talking for a full minute. The words register and Inigo bursts out laughing.

"That's rich," Inigo says, rolling over onto his back. "That is absolutely rich, coming from _you_."

"I don't know what you mean," Owain says, and he probably really, truly, genuinely doesn't. "The shining lineage of the Halidom of Ylisse is renowned for their godsent naming techniques, used to cement swords and men alike in the great halls of legend-- nay, eternity." Owain looks particularly impressed with himself. Inigo rolls his eyes.

This is why Owain will never get a girlfriend, Inigo thinks. That and the pile of anime on his desk. He doesn't even have the decency to hide it in his closet or under his bed, like porn. When Cynthia and Owain first sat him down in Owain's messy room for what he internally dubbed _nerd initiation_ ("A shonen marathon!" Cynthia declared, standing on the bed and pumping her fist in the air), Inigo's impression of anime was vague and distasteful. At the very least, he reasoned, there would be girls.

There weren't. There was a distinct lack of cute girls. There was, however, an unreasonable abundance of convoluted fight scenes and by 4am Inigo's eyes were glazing over. He had glanced over at Cynthia and Owain, hoping to see them asleep so he could sneak out the window. Cynthia was indeed asleep ("I've seen this arc _twelve times_ ," she had said earlier, clenching her fists in anticipation) but Owain was glued to the screen, his eyes shining.

Inigo was embarrassed for him. He was so embarrassed for him that he watched him for a little while until pale morning light shone through the window and Owain turned to him, grinning and offering to put the next disk in.

Back in the present Owain pokes him in the shoulder with the eraser of the pencil, and Inigo sighs.

The collar of Owain's well-worn tshirt-- _Naruto,_ Inigo thinks, and is disgusted with himself for knowing the name-- is rumpled from where they wrestled earlier, and the jut of his collarbone is peeking out, the one he broke in 5th grade when he and Cynthia were climbing trees. "That's high enough," Inigo had said from the ground, nervously, and Owain had laughed like _ho ho ho_. "No tree is too tall for me, Owain Dark, embodiment of courage and keeper of the great blade--" and then he had fallen and landed with a sickening _crunch_. Inigo and Cynthia cried but Owain didn't, curiously, even in the bumpy car ride holding his arm, even in the emergency room. He let Inigo feel it, a month later, where the bone hadn't set right because Owain didn't keep the sling on for more than a week. He wonders if it still feels like it did back then, knobby and cool. Concrete proof of Owain's monumental stupidity.

Inigo feels dizzy, and then hot. Clearly the fans aren't doing their job. He closes his eyes.

Owain makes a _tsk_ sound above him, and he hears papers rustling. Inigo opens his eyes and Owain is lying next to him on the floor, holding the handbook open above them. Their shoulders are touching.

"If you're going to be a ranger you should at least be an elf," Owain says, pointing at the stats. "You get a race bonus that makes up for your poor natural dexterity."

"I've got dexterity," Inigo mutters. He scowls at the book. The ranger is frumpy and covered in leaves; not cool at all. Inigo wishes there was a pirate class, or a mercenary, or a bounty hunter. Something suave and dashing, where he could run his mouth and be a ladies' man.

"Cynthia's got the right idea," Owain says, resting the book on his chest and flipping through the pages. He has the pencil in his mouth and is chewing on it absently. "She's a half-orc paladin, seeking redemption for her bloody youth. It's a little lawful good for my tastes, but I applaud her creativity."

"Who's going to DM?" Inigo says, then makes a face at himself. They made the mistake of letting Owain DM, once. It's not an experience Inigo wants to repeat. Owain spent twenty minutes describing a magic sword they found in some stupid dungeon and whenever they fought goblins he made really loud sword clanging noises and during the boss monster's evil monologue he slammed his fist on the table for emphasis and Inigo's soda spilled into his lap. Cynthia and Owain laughed so hard Inigo thought they were going to hurt themselves.

"Dunno," Owain says, deep in thought. "Maybe Laurent. He doesn't even have to use a calculator."

It's cooler down here on the floor. Owain shifts and his knee knocks against Inigo's.

"Do you think," Inigo says, and then stops, abruptly. His mouth is dry. He thinks again about the iced tea his mom made, waiting in a pitcher in the small kitchen. She works long hours but is always there to see him off in the morning and keeps a grocery list on the fridge in neat handwriting that Owain and Cynthia always add to, things like _Swiss rolls!!!_ and _Bacon, enough to feed an army of the strongest men, their blood turned black with boiling hate._

"Yes," Owain says, "I think all the time."

Inigo hates it when Owain sasses him. He throws a wrist over his eyes and tries not to laugh.

"You're despondent today, swordbrother," Owain says. "Could it be a demon has got a hold of your heart? Or a vile spell, sucking away at your very lifeforce?"

"Absolutely," Inigo says.

Owain likes to be the burdened hero in these made-up scenarios, saving his friends at the cost of his life or humanity. Cynthia hates it when he goes on and on about sacrifice and blood spilt on the dusty ground. Inigo thinks it's weird and he doesn't know what it says that Owain, who doesn't have an evil bone in his body, relishes the thought of giving up his humanity for his friends. And then going on a mindless bloody rampage, or whatever. Inigo usually tunes him out by that time.

"But what could break the spell," Owain muses, tapping the pencil against the player's handbook. He's looking at monsters now; demons and ghosts and dragons. Owain wants nothing more than to kill a dragon but Cynthia refused after learning how intelligent and noble they were. Inigo secretly agrees.

"Perhaps a counterspell," Owain says, then sighs deeply. "Alas, that exceeds the reach of my sword hand, which is cursed to wield only steel, not unquenchable dark fire or the gales of the lonely desert wind."

"Maybe a kiss," Inigo says, and then wants to punch himself in the face. It's the exact same tone of voice he uses when he's talking to girls, not like it's ever successful. He hates how light and flippant he sounds but maybe that'll be his saving grace. Owain will probably brush it off like he brushes off broken collarbones and the stares of his classmates when he goes on a spiel about the grim fate of Owain Dark.

"Huh," Owain says. He props himself up on his elbows and Inigo's heart is suddenly in his throat. Owain leans over him, face deadly serious.

"Could it be," Owain says, in his best dramatic voice, "that all this time the dashing ranger had longed for nothing more than the lips of the mysterious swordsman on his own, even knowing that the danger of--"

"Shut up," Inigo hisses, fisting his hands in Owain's shirt, a reflex born from years of roughhousing. "Shut up, oh my God. You're so embarrassing."

Owain places his hands on either side of Inigo's head with painstaking care, his thumbs brushing Inigo's cheekbones. Inigo thinks he's going to die. His face must be horrifingly red. The white noise of the fans in the background aren't enough to mask the way his heart is beating and he is sure Owain can hear it; will make fun of him for it.

But Owain just leans down, and kisses him, and Inigo's hands go wobbly where they're clutched at Owain's shirt. He feels vaguely like the girl in this scenario. Maybe he has been for a while.

Owain's mouth is kind of dry. Inigo breathes out shakily and pulls back.

"Amateur," he says, hoping his voice is steady. "What, was that your first kiss?"

"Yeah," Owain says, like, _duh_. "Wasn't it yours?"

"No!" Inigo says, indignant. Then, after a moment: "Maybe."

Owain nods. His cheeks are red, Inigo notes. It makes him feel slightly better about this whole thing; more on even footing. He feels weird, floaty and shaky. Owain rolls off of him and lays spread-eagled on the floor, his arm flung over Inigo's stomach.

"That was cool," Owain says. Inigo is struck with a horrible thought.

"Don't write about this in your diary," Inigo says.

"I'm not going to use your _name_ ," Owain says, like that makes it okay. "I'll throw in some monsters and a tragic battle." He turns to Inigo and eyes him solemnly. "You're going to die, by the way."

"Thanks," Inigo says, bitterly sarcastic. "I suppose you cradle my lifeless body in your arms and scream my name at the sky."

"Wow," Owain says, blinking. "That's good. It should be raining, too."

The fans whir. Inigo hears the key in the lock; his mom is home.

"Let's go to the park," Owain says, sitting up. "We can reenact our tragic battle. I'll get Cynthia to film it."

"Sure," Inigo says, before he can stop himself.

Owain stands up and offers his sword hand to Inigo, who takes it. Owain pulls him up and Inigo stumbles a little, catching himself on Owain's shoulder and feeling incredibly stupid. His fingers brush Owain's collarbone, the broken one.

"See, you're already in character," Owain says, grinning, and he hasn't let go of his hand.


End file.
